I was lucky to have a good treble voice as a child.

My parents had met singing in an amateur G. and S. opera, and were keen members of the Oxford Bach Choir. We sang at home, even sometimes trying out Elizabethan madrigals with friends like Roddy Armstrong and the Powells. Mum was full of Girl Guide rounds which we picked up: “The Cookaburra”, “Little Fox Terrier”, and “The Chestnut Tree”.

At the Dragon School in Oxford I tasted stardom for the first time!Auditioning for the chorus of Iolanthe, I got the lead,-Phyllis. Very alarming for an 10 year old. Later came Gianetta in Gondoliers, as well as small parts in Shakespeare. The amazing Bruno Brown was Producer and Music Director of all these. Quite an achievement for a Prep School to put on a G.and S. and a Shakespeare every year. We learned, and enjoyed, so much there.

Singing continued at Westminster, where I made sure my voice broke gradually and carefully. The result was quite a pleasant tenor.

From my RAF camp, during National Service,  I drove to Cambridge to compete in the Voice Trials for the college choirs. It was rather awe-inspiring to be put up in Gibbs Building of Kings College, and to sing in the dark wintry Chapel. I was only looking for an Exhibition at Clare, partly as a means of  changing Universities, but I was actually approached by  both Kings and Johns because they liked what they heard. I didn’t fancy spending my life in chapel so I stuck with Clare, where there were only a couple of duties a week. I sang quite a bit at Cambridge nevertheless, including the Kings and Johns madrigal societies.

It amuses me to remember one evening when, for a bet, I turned up in my dinner jacket to join the CUMS chorus in Bach’s B Minor Mass. It sounds straightforward, but I wasn’t a member, I had not been to a single rehearsal, and I was sight-reading the piece. It seemed good stuff. The conductor David Wilcox did look rather quizzically at me, and some of my neighbouring singers said they hadn’t seen me at many rehearsals (I agreed with them). But the show seemed to go pretty well. Once or twice I managed to pull my section back from a small disaster area. At the end I disappeared fairly quickly before any more questions could be asked. At all events I had won my bet.

I sought out some lessons in the vacations, and by the time I started work in London had quite a useful instrument. Lessons continued with Roy Henderson and later Julian Kimbell, and I started on occasion to be asked to sing professionally. As an amateur I sang regularly with the Philharmonia Chorus under the famous German choir trainer Wilhelm Pitz. I learned a lot from him. They were fortunate indeed to have two great conductors at that time: Otto Klemperer, and Carlo Maria Giulini.  I also sang in the Elizabethan Singers under Louis Halsey, where for a while I sat between two wonderful singers, Philip Langridge and John Shirley Quirk (both no longer with us). It was John who changed my life in one sentence. At a rehearsal he told me was going professional next season. “Gosh John” I said. “How would you feel if you fail”. “Roger” he replied; “How will you feel if you never try”. Boy, did that make me stop and think. If he believed in me, then maybe I should too.

When I  did indeed turn professional in 1962 I was able to rely entirely on my singing for a living. I gave up the violin (except for fun), and set my long-term sights on conducting. But for 5 or 6 years singing was my bread and butter. One paid job I got was  “stiffening” the (amateur) Bach Choir tenors. As I started (1963)  the Choir was immediately involved in touring and recording the Britten War Requiem, with Ben conducting.

The exciting Italian tour meant my playing hookey from the the Royal College of Music, in which I had just enrolled. At the first rehearsal I found myself sitting next to the Principal of the College, Keith Faulkner, himself a noted (retired) Baritone, who had admitted me to the RCM only a few months earlier. He was evidently singing in this historic production for his own enjoyment. Smiling, he said to me “Have you got permission to be here?” I replied “No sir; have you?” “No” he merrily replied. “We’d better both agree to keep quiet about it.” A lovely man.

In the Choir I also met my beautiful first wife, Susan May. We were married a year later.

As a professional soloist Saturdays were the busy days: Messiah in Swansea, Creation in Croydon, Enfance in Nottingham. Afternoon rehearsal  with an indifferent amateur conductor, unattractive meal at a choir member’s house; then the edgy show, and a long drive home. 10 Guineas.

The Bach Passions were a fairly regular staple.  I made my own translation of the John Evangelist part, and sang it quite a bit.The first time I sang the arias was more risky. I was rung up at 5pm: Could I jump in to sing them that evening at 7.30? I had looked them over for possible future repertoire, but never studied them closely. I had a miniature score, I could sight-read reasonably well, and I needed the work, so I said yes. I sang a few scales to get my voice “in”, dusted off my tails, grabbed a snack, and was driven by Sue up to St James Piccadilly, one of the many Wren churches in London. Pretty good soloists, choir and band. First aria went well (quite a tough number). In the second something went a little awry. Although we got back together quite quickly I had a careful look during the rest of the work, and was amazed to realise that the miniature score was actually at fault: there were five beats in a 4/4 bar. I had only gone wrong because I had sung what was  on the page!  Someone who jumps in always gets allowances made, and people were very nice, but I was furious. Of course I should have noticed the fault in my cursory examination at tea time….

A grander, and more successful, occasion was singing the Evangelist part in the Matthew Passion in the Royal Festival Hall.

I vividly remember that wonderful double bass player and friend  Francis Baines saying as we came off stage afterwards: “Best bloody opera of the lot, eh Roger?”

I sang in a few professional choirs: the Ambrosian Singers (where I was fired for being late twice), Imogen Holst’s Purcell Singers, sometimes the BBC Singers, and a few avant garde groups.

I also spent a fascinating couple of months standing in for Nigel Rogers with the Munich-based Studio der Frühen Musik for three months, learning four Medieval and Renaissance programmes in four days and then touring in Europe with this very talented quartet. I have a treasured memory of singing Dowland lute songs in front of the huge fireplace in the Great Hall of Elsinore Castle.

Even more exciting were operas: The great thing about being a singer, as opposed to a conductor, is that you can audition. So suddenly I could be in the world premiere of Nicholas Maw’s One Man Show, then in the BBC’s first ever TV opera commission, The Arrangement, by the celebrated Carl Davis, and three subsequent operas for BBC TV, ending with Monsieur Triquet in Eugene Onegin, together with some on radio. Another memory is Cosi fan Tutte at the Bath Festival with Yehudi Menuhin conducting( not awfully well, but he was a joy).

The BBC commission TheArrangement was a good example of the sort of resource and chutzpah one sometimes needed. I was asked by my agent to audition for the tenor role, and turned up with the usual material (Handel, Bach, Purcell). Carl and the Director explained that that wasn’t the sort of thing they wanted at all. Carl had only recently arrived from his native America, and was clearly, and quite rightly,  expecting some kind of realistic modern popular style. I tried to read a bit over the pianist’s shoulders, but with little success. So, in a moment of inspiration, I said “lend me the score; I’ll come back tomorrow and show you what I can do”. I worked on it at home in my best Sinatra manner, came back the next day, and got the job.

Like many of my contemporaries and friends I could have gone on singing for another twenty or thirty years. But when I gave it up for conducting, my singing experience was outstandingly useful. I could show soloists what I wanted, I could become a really able choir trainer, and I could give wind players the right kind of upbeat. I wanted all my orchestras to play with a singing line. Even now there it is a real thrill to work with a great choir in a Missa Solemnis, a Brahms Requiem, or a VW Sea Symphony. Singing is the soul of music.